A Different Injury
by Agent H.E.R.O
Summary: What if Thomas Barrow didn't injury himself but got injured defending Matthew Crawley? This story explores the softer side of Thomas and how I wished part of season two turned out because he doesn't get nearly enough credit. *warning* Thomas will get very OOC in later chapters.
1. The Hand Dealt

Author's note:

I've had this story in my mind for a few days and as no one else has written it so I decided to give it a try. This is set before Thomas gets his hand shot in the war and he's kind of ooc later on. Comment please! There might be more chapters-depends on how many people like it.

It was as if everything he ever wanted always slipped through his fingers like water. He wanted to be a valet and then Mr. Bates came along. He wanted to avoid being sent to the trenches so he trained in the medical corps. And then was sent to the trenches. Two years in war could do a lot to a man. He'd seen his fellow 'comrades' go crazy. He wouldn't call any of them his friend in fear of growing too close and risking the pain of them dying in his arms. He learned that lesson the second week in the trenches. It had just rained and the barrage of bullets was said to be over when they rejoiced by lighting some cigarettes. He had grown rather close to this young man and he reciprocated the feeling a night before the barrage where both slept together (and actually slept) for a good ten minutes. He caressed the man's face and rubbed his thumb over the contours of his cheekbones.

So anyways, they were just lighting their cigarettes when the bullets started again, and within a second, his friend was shot through the neck. He collapsed onto Thomas, blood pouring onto his uniform from the clean shot. He screamed, loud and girly. The other medic next to him pushed the dead man aside and dragged Thomas to where the wounded lay in a pile on top of one another.

And then a year and a half later he saw the future Earl of Grantham, Matthew Crawley. He made a joke about telling his mother about serving tea to an earl and was rewarded with a comment about social classes. It was that night when the German soldiers decided to cross No Man's land and enter into their trenches. They'd heard rumors but no one thought it would actually happen. He was playing cards with a chap from Britain when they heard the pounding footsteps and the gunshots. Not that the gunshots ever stopped, but now they were growing louder, closer. His card mate peeked above the soil and nearly got his face blown off. Thomas, not as dumb, clung to the underside of the wall, holding his helmet over his head. Even after two years, Thomas wasn't used to the noise. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it and hoped not. He ran over to get the stretcher and found himself next to Matthew Crawley yet again that day.

Now the soldiers were almost upon them completely. He reacted before he thought which admittedly, wasn't very much like Thomas, but he thought of Lady Mary Crawley and her brown hair and her harsh eyes and thought of Matthew's dirty blond hair and his blue eyes and realized that he wanted them to be together. He saw they made each other better and he wished so badly, oh how he wished, he could find a love like that. So he didn't do it for Matthew per say, he did it because he wished he could find a love like theirs.

So anyways, he saw the soldier coming with the German uniform and pointed his barrel at Matthew and pushed aside the dumb captain with a grunt. The bullets entered quickly, tearing through his stomach and his left soldier like nobody's business.

Except it was somebody's business, it was Thomas' business and Matthew seemed to care quite a bit too. He heard shouting. Well, to be specific, he heard more shouting-right in his ears. Matthew killed the officer and those that followed while Thomas lay dying behind him.

The blond turned around and pressed on his wound in his stomach.

"Thomas? Talk to me"

Thomas' lips quivered upward but reverted to normal after a second. He opened his mouth but only coughed up blood. His eyes started to glaze over, looking up at the cloud filled sky.

"Say anything. Tell me about working downstairs!"

His eyes wouldn't focus on Matthew and all at once he realized how disgusted and angry he was. He just gave his life for this man and he had given his life serving the family of this man!

"What's it like?" Thomas whispered, his voice barely audible.

Matthew kept screaming for a medic, not listening. He reached up and clawed at the man's uniform. His breath was coming in short bursts and he hated how disheveled he must appear. Carson would never forgive him!

The medic came over, conversing with the captain and getting bandages out. Thomas tried talking to them, but either his lips weren't moving or he was imagining talking.

"Can't you do something? Just, stop the bleeding!"

His eyes rolled upward and he went limp in the mud. He stopped listening. He couldn't see. He didn't care. He felt like he was floating, or sleeping on one of those fancy down filled comforters. He felt like he was drifting on the ocean, just slipping away like water.

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He woke up blinded by the light. He blinked his eyes a few times until the light started receding. He smelled antiseptic ointment, and heard shouting. More shouting. He collapsed into unconsciousness again, welcoming it like an old friend.

The second time he came around he felt Death's hand on his shoulder. He felt his breath down his neck. There was no scythe like everyone said. There was no black robe. In fact, Thomas couldn't even see Death. Death stood behind him with all the fondness of his father. He heard running water.

But Death didn't want him. He felt a shove on his back and all of a sudden the peace and quiet was gone and the shouting was back. And then as easy as before, he slipped under.

The third time he awoke he was in Downton's hospital. There was Sybil sponging off his fevered brow and O'Brien.

"Thomas, how are you feeling?"

He glanced at Sybil, wondering why she wasn't in bed and he was serving her.

"Where, where am I?"

"Downton Hospital of course. It's only supposed to be for officer but Granny and the Doctor managed to pull some strings for you."

He felt his eyelids close again and then a sharp pinch.

"Oh no you don't. You just woke up. I'm fetching the doctor. O'Brien keep him awake."

The lady's maid looked at her partner with seriousness.

"When they said you'd been shot twice, and saved Mr. Crawley I couldn't believe it."

His eyebrows rose.

"Twice?"

His voice was cracked and dry. She gave him some water.

"They say you've been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since you got shot. They even lost you once on the operating table."

He took a minute to think. To think without people shouting at him, without someone ordering him around or someone trying to kill him constantly.

The doctor came in, asked him all sort of questions. He answered as best he could, but he didn't know most of the answers. He felt disoriented and out of place.

He couldn't move his left arm where a bullet struck him. At least, not very well. The bandages on his shoulder and stomach still bled through so the nurses had to change them often. He wasn't allowed to where a shirt in fear that the blood would stain the clothes.

He started walking around the second day at the hospital. He walked to the garden where he had to sit on the bench and catch his breath. He couldn't walk without the stitches across the front of his stomach hurting. While he was resting on the rusted bench in the garden Mr. Carson walked outside. He started to talk but Thomas held up his hand, his breathing still labored.

"Mr. Carson, I'd like to apologize. I was rude to you and shouldn't have stole."

Mr. Carson looked at him curiously and fiddled with his coat.

"Whatever sparked this Thomas?"

He plucked a flower off the ground.

"When I was at the front, I realized I never had it so good at Downton. When those bullets-"

He swallowed.

"When those bullets hit me, I thought I was going to die. Technically I did for seventeen seconds according to the doctor. I regretted not being able to apologize."

The butler sighed heavily and sat next to Thomas on the bench.

"They told me you've been shot twice."

Carson looked at the shirt, hanging over his bad arm and showing the growing red patch on his shoulder and stomach.

"Sir Crawley speaks highly of you. Says you saved his life."

Thomas' eyes roamed the ground, searching for the right words.

"Help me back inside?"

Carson nodded as he held tightly onto Thomas' good arm, steadying him.


	2. Bates and Barrow

Author's Note:

First off, thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them. I threw Thomas and Mr. Bates together in this chapter because I think they would make a great pair if they could get along. Any suggestions for the next chapter or what you'd like to see more of just message me. Keep reading!

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The days blurred together. Thomas slept…a lot. Whenever he woke up there was usually someone there. Even Mr. Bates visited him during the first week. He remembered sleeping on his side when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Thomas?"

He'd know that annoying voice anywhere, so he pretended to keep sleeping. To his surprise, Bates stayed. He heard the chair next to his bed squeak.

"I know you aren't awake but I need someone to talk to and I can't go to the house now. They all say you've changed. Changed for the good. I can see why, what with two drips coming out of your arms."

Thomas stayed still, trying to keep his breathing even and his face expressionless. Of course Mrs. O'Brien told him the news of Bates trying to get a divorce. He could hear the bustle and life inside of the hospital over Bates' sigh.

"It's funny, war changes people, doesn't it? The nurse told me your wounds are infected. You look like the walking dead."

Thomas would've grunted if he didn't want to give himself away. Leave it to Mr. Bates to remark on his complexion. Of course, he knew the medicine and the pain left him with many sleepless nights, hence the deep circles under his eyes. He also stopped eating that much, the images of dead soldiers conjured to his mind when he looked at a meal. The nurses would joke with him that if he ate the food he'd get a kiss.

"When Mrs. Bates showed up black mailing me I thought of you."

Thomas tried drawing in a breath, but was having trouble breathing. The doctor was worried it was from the smoking. Although nothing had been confirmed that smoking led to difficulty breathing, the doctor thought it likely. He wasn't sure if his difficulty was from his physical or mental pain.

He didn't want to hear about Bates talk about his love for Anna or his hatred of Mrs. Bates because in a twisted way, he felt bad for Mrs. Bates. Like her, he had sticky fingers as well; the difference was his employers were more forgiving.

Thomas had no way of knowing what Mrs. Bates really wanted, but from his story they seemed happy enough in childhood. The trouble came when war came. He felt for her. She probably had to put up with a husband constantly haunted by his experiences and forever crippled. After her thievery, she had no one, not even her husband.

No one wanted her. No one cared about her. She was completely alone.

He writhed beneath the sheets, twisting and turning.

Then to figure out that her wife was in love with a perfect, blond, housemaid. Well, he'd have been jealous too. His breath started coming in heavy, wheezing gasps when he felt Mr. Bates shaking him awake.

"Thomas? Thomas!"

He clawed at his throat, as if there was no oxygen exchange.

He didn't love Vera, and no one ever would. Thomas didn't want to end up like that, but in his situation, it hardly ever ended differently.

Mr. Bates was now on the side of Thomas' bed, hugging him and rocking him like a child.

"Take a deep breath. Hold it. Breath out."

Thomas tried following the advice, concentrating on his breathing instead of Vera. He felt hot tears spill down his face. Felt Mr. Bates hold his head to his chest like his father. He smelled of tobacco and oh how he wanted a cigarette! He coughed again. Bates rubbed circles on the young man's back. He heard running water in the background and someone offered him a glass of water.

He drank greedily, trying to soothe his raw throat. He slumped back onto the pillows. Beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His breathing eased a little but Bates could still hear him wheezing. Thomas tried to look surprised to see Mr. Bates.

His eyes searched the weather worn face for familiarity.

Mr. Bates took the wet washcloth on the table and wiped the sweat away.

"You don't have to-"

He rasped, although he leaned into the cool touch.

"It's all right Thomas."

"You're treating me like a kid."

"You're acting like one."

He tried to make a smart remark but his mind was cloudy, and his wounds hurt. Bates saw through Thomas' façade and wet the washcloth again. The man almost looked sad that his enemy couldn't muster a good comeback. The nurse soon took over and Mr. Bates tipped his hat.

"Get better soon. I'm starting to miss your snarky attitude."


	3. Take Care of Her

Author's note:

I put William and Thomas together in this chapter. Thomas finally gets moved to Downton Abbey convalescence home! So there'll be less sick Thomas. Thanks for the reviews, keep reading!

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Thomas was reading when William sat down in the chair by his bed. Will watched the former first footman situate himself on his new bed in Downton Abbey convalescence home.

"I'm going to be shipped off tomorrow"

Thomas stared down at his hands, before meeting Will's gaze.

"You'll be fine. Just keep your head down and your helmet on."

The fire crackled in the background. The scent of roasted chicken and fresh bread wafted throughout the house for dinner.

"Daisy and I were watching them move soldiers in when we saw you on a stretcher."

Thomas would've blushed with embarrassment but the fire and blankets already made his face a healthy pink.

"Actually, I have a request to make. If something happens to me, can you watch out for Daisy?"

The sick man's head jerked upward. He was about to refuse when Will started pleading. How could this silly little boy be sent to war and still worry about Daisy?

Thomas wasn't much older, but he was sneakier, and smarter. He knew what people wanted, how they worked. Thomas always knew exactly what buttons to press.

But William? He was too nice and pure to be involved in such a dirty business. Thomas watched Will grow from a spineless boy who talked to horses into a young man who wasn't afraid to stand up for what he wanted.

He remembered that time he asked Daisy to the town festival just to make William upset. It wasn't his fault Daisy liked him more. The reason Thomas really asked her was because he wanted to see how far he could push William. Wanted to see how much abuse William could take. He heard Mrs. Hughs talking, saying he was jealous because everyone liked William more.

He would've liked to say that wasn't true. That Mrs. Hughes was a delusional old lady and didn't know what she was saying.

He would've been lying.

Everyone did like William better though. How could anyone not like him? He always obeyed orders and tried his best to please everyone. When it came down to it, William was too good. Mr. Carson did take a special liking to him along with Mrs. Hughes.

Thomas remembered his first day at Downton. Mr. Carson sent him to bed without supper as punishment for accidentally serving the wrong person first. And when he dropped a hot plate, the butler made him stand upright holding five plates in each hand for a full night. He worked hard to become first footman and even harder to become a temporary valet.

One night, after him and Will finished serving and cleaning the blond asked Carson to go into town to mail a letter. Carson agreed on one condition, that Thomas go with him since it was getting dark outside. Reluctantly Thomas started walking after the other footman.

"So what's in the letter?"

"None of your business"

He scoffed and kicked a rock on the ground.

"I have to walk with you and waste my night instead of an extra hour of sleeping for this letter. It's my business now."

Will just kept walking.

"Come on, I'm curious. Don't tell me you have a secret admirer."

Will blushed and turned around on the worn gravel path.

"You just don't get it, do you? Everything's a joke to you isn't it? If you really must know, my favourite horse is dying at the stables! I grew up with this horse and my parents don't have the money to save it. I don't know what I work for sometimes. It never makes a difference how much money I send home. You wouldn't understand that though! You always look so cool and collected. I don't know why I even told you, you'll probably make fun of me!"

"William-"

"No, you wanted to know. Now I'm telling you. You just go around setting the clocks and always have that cocky smirk on. Not a care in the world!"

"Will-"

"Some things are just too important. I'm sorry that you missed out after work, but I didn't ask you to come along."

"Will-"

The blond was about to start again when Thomas pushed him roughly to the side, narrowly missing the rushing carriage. His heart pounded under his rib cage while he lay on the side of the road with Will by his side. After a minute Thomas got to his feet, offering a hand.

"You saved my life!"

Thomas put on his 'cocky smirk.'

"The post office's closing soon."

They didn't say anything to each other the rest of the night.

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"So will you watch Daisy?"

He rubbed a hand through his sleek black hair.

"Fine, but you have to do something for me then."

William rolled his eyes as if he knew this was coming.

"Don't die."


	4. One of Her Own

Author's Note:

Sorry for not posting in a little while. School's been hectic and I recently got very sick. I threw Thomas and Mrs. Hughes together and the next chapter will also feature these two as well as some with Anna.

(To: The Green Eyed Cat-Thank you so much, I love your reviews!)

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Mrs. Hughes looked in on Thomas, writing a letter in bed. His arm was in a sling, the other holding a quill and writing. He looked younger than ever, with his pale face contrasting against his pitch-black hair. She remembered the time she found him shivering out in the rain, looking like a snot nosed brat. She still felt for him as if he was one of her own, as if he was still a footman downstairs.

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The rain pounded the roof of the castle at Downton Abbey. Thomas was running from the meadow, the rain soaking his 'downstairs' jacket. Mr. Carson would kill him.

He could see his breath coming in wispy white puffs through the rain. He looked up to the sky, as if glaring would make it stop. Mud clung to his shoes in brown clumps and his hair was out of sorts, but it was like that even before the rain came.

He hadn't even told Mrs. O'Brien about his secret meeting with the Duke of Crowborough. They hadn't done anything really, just kissed and hugged and told jokes. His life improved ever since he came along. To know that someone actually liked him in the same way. To know that someone would be waiting for him by the meadow in the forest after eight o'clock when he got off work.

He continued running, thinking about the secret ten minutes they'd stolen. While Thomas liked the Duke, he realized he couldn't get too friendly, just in case. He finally arrived at the servants' entrance.

Snot dripped from his nose, his shoulders shivered under the drenched coat. He pushed against the door with his shoulders but it was stuck! The wooden door swelled from the humidity of the rain. He continued pounding with his fists for another ten minutes before Mrs. Hughes answered the door and took in Thomas' disheveled appearance.

"What happened to you?"

He went to go inside when she blocked his entrance."

"I-I went to the office to send a letter." His voice quivered in the chilly night air.

"Without telling or myself?"

He looked at the gravel pebbles under his feet.

"Please Mrs. Hughes, I tried to, but I couldn't find the chance-"

She huffed even louder, still blocking the entrance.

"Well next time you find the time! Give me one good reason I shouldn't leave you outside in the rain as a punishment!"

He leaned against the side of the door. It had been raining when he first left and the rain only increased adversely with the temperature.

"Please Mrs. Hughes, I've been outside for over thirty minutes. My shoes are filled with water and my coat is soaked." He sniffed for good measure.

She looked at him like a disapproving mother, her eyes roaming over his sodden appearance. Reluctantly, she stepped aside, but not before setting down a towel.

"You're going to have to wash that."

He grunted but stepped inside. He could feel the warmth from the hearth and the cooling oven. He could hear Mr. Carson's shoes on the squeaky floorboards.

"Thomas! Where have you been? You're a mess! Don't you realize when-"

Thomas kept his head straight and his eyes focused on Mr. Carson but tuned out his speech. It just wasn't worth it. This was the second time he'd gotten a dressing down so harsh in all his years at Downton. He didn't understand why he couldn't catch a break every now and then. It's like Mr. Carson was watching for slip ups and mistakes. He was always there to kick him when he was down. He sniffled again, wishing he didn't give his last handkerchief to the Duke.

Mrs. Hughes watched as Thomas stood stone still, Mr. Carson barking out insults and clichés like he was the boy's father.

She stepped in for Thomas defense, feeling just the tiniest tug at her matronly heart.

"It wasn't completely his fault, we've both been awfully busy. Besides, Thomas is old enough to go out once and a while after work if he needs to."

Mr. Carson brushed a hand through his thinning hair.

"Very well, but if I catch you out again without my permission you better have your bags packed and your shoes on. Understand?"

Thomas clicked his heels together and stood a little taller. "Yes sir."

As soon as Carson left, Mrs. Hughes turned to him.

"Don't expect me to ever do that again. Just because Mr. Carson can be a little harsh doesn't mean you don't deserve it."

Thomas put a hand to his head. The room was spinning, his feet were wet and his whole body shivered.

"Thomas, are you listening to me?"

He swayed on his feet, the only thing stopping him from toppling over was Mrs. Hughes supporting him. She got under his shoulder, one arm around his waist, the other on a chair. He sneezed violently.

"You probably got sick in that rain. Come now, I'll help you to your room."

Slowly, painstakingly, she helped Thomas into his room where peeled off his layers.

"I'll get your pajamas."

He looked at the pajamas in nothing but his boxers. They both should've been embarrassed but Thomas was too sick and Mrs. Hughes had known him for over three years. He was much like the son she never wanted.

"Arms up."

He did as he was told and allowed Mrs. Hughes to pull over his t-shirt. She left soon after that.

The next morning Thomas didn't show up for breakfast. Mr. Carson pounded his fist on the table.

"Where is that boy?"

Anna volunteered to go check on him. While Thomas wasn't her favourite, she knew nobody deserved an angry Mr. Carson as a wake up call. She knocked loudly at first. Hearing no answer she twisted the knob and went into the room.

Thomas was still in bed. The sheets were twisted beneath his hands and sweat gleamed off his forehead.

"Thomas?"

He groaned and turned over.

"Thomas, are you sick?"

She put the back of her hand to his forehead and pulled it away quickly as if burned. She was about to leave when he grabbed her wrist desperately, fingers grasping wildly.

"Mom, please. I'm sorry, I'll do better."

Anna pushed his hair back, away from his face.

"Shhh, it's alright. It's Anna."

His eyes were glazed over, his undershirt was wet with sweat.

"Mom forgive me!"

Anna blinked rapidly a few times.

"Okay, I forgive you."

He released her wrist and closed his eyes, his head hitting the pillow again. She went to find Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes still in the servants' hall.

"He's very sick. Delirious with fever."

"We'll send for the doctor then. Anna, you're needed upstairs."


	5. Have Your Cake

Mrs. Hughes sat by the bed next to Thomas. The doctor came ten minutes ago, diagnosing him with pneumonia and warning him to stay in bed for at least a week. She took out her knitting needles, her hands adept and quick with the stitches.

Thomas groaned. Sweat gleaned off his forehead. He started coughing, which turned into a fit. He sat up as Mrs. Hughes handed him a cup of water. His hands were shaking and he kept spilling the water.

Mrs. Hughes took the cup from him, pouring the liquid down his throat.

The next few days were much of the same, Mrs. Hughes always sitting by him. She listened to his laboured breaths and his gasps. She rubbed soft circles on his back. More than once, she held the trashcan up for him to barf. Deep circles ran under his eyes, his skin the colour of bleach.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

She hrumphed.

"The doctor said you were to have someone with you at all times. You've had a bad fever for the past few days."

He nodded, his eyes closing.

"So you don't actually like me then?"

Before she could answer though he was fast asleep. She clicked her tongue but rearranged the blankets on him nonetheless.

When Mrs. Hughes wasn't there, Anna was.

He'd be lying if he said he liked Mrs. Hughes more than Anna. She talked to him more than the employer did. She smiled at him politely when he woke up.

He was sitting up in bed, finally feeling a little better after a week of lying in bed.

"Everyone misses you in the servants' hall."

He smirked, "I find that hard to believe."

"It's true. And Mrs. Patmore's very concerned. If I bring back one more full tray of food from your room she said she'd come up here and shove it down your throat."

Although it'd been only a week, Anna could see the weight loss. The t-shirt that he used to fill out hung over his torso, his face more fleshed out. He rolled his head to the side, looking at the sky through his small window.

"Can I ask you a question?" Anna asked.

"What 'bout?"

"That first day I came in to check on you, you asked your Mum to forgive you. Forgive you for what?"

He coughed weakly. His fingers started playing with the hem of the blanket.

"You don't have to tell me. I just thought it might help to talk."

He breathed deeply. She watched as his chest rose and fell and then shuddered in mid breath, as if his throat was blocked.

"My mum gave me money to buy bread. I lost the money so we couldn't get any."

Anna frowned, there must've been more to the story.

"That seems an awfully short story to have nightmares about."

"The other boys at the corner of the street beat me up and took the money. I told my mum that but she kept making me go back and back until I wound up unconscious one night, left out in the street."

Anna sat still, her hands folded in her lap.

"She said-she said I needed to learn how to be a man and fight back. I found an alternate route to take. One of the boys though, he followed me. That day, I was buying a cake for my father, for his promotion at work."

He drew in a trembling breath.

"He stole the cake from me and sent me home with more than a black eye. That night, my father left us. My mother wouldn't stop asking me why I didn't have the cake. She said if we only had the cake he wouldn't have left."

Anna looked up to see Thomas trying to keep tears at bay. She put a hand on his shoulder, and sat on the bed next to him-the chair empty.

She hugged him as the warm tears slid down his face, finding their way onto her work dress. As his sobs turned into coughs. As his body convulsed with lack of oxygen.

She just held him.

Neither of them talked about that ever again.

The doctor came again, at the beginning of the new week. Mr. Carson stood next to Thomas as the doctor examined him.

"Breath in, breath out. Again. Again."

The doctor took the stethoscope off his chest before addressing Mr. Carson.

"His fever's gone. That's a good sign."

"So he'll be able to return to work now?"

Doctor Clarkson frowned, "I'm afraid not. He's still wheezing heavily. His chest is congested. Combine that with the fatigue and I don't think Thomas will be much good for anything without another week of rest. A word outside Mr. Carson, please?"

The butler nodded, stepping out of the room. The doctor spoke in hushed tones,

"I'm starting to get worried about Thomas. I've noticed he's lost weight and he's wheezing a lot more. I'll have to take him to the hospital next week if his condition gets worse for his lungs."

"But this isn't life threatening, is it?"

For once, concern showed in the older man's eyes for his footman.

"Not yet, but it will be soon unless he gets the proper rest and care. I want you to give him this twice a day and help him calm his breathing. Tell him to breath in for eight seconds, and breath out for eight seconds."

The butler nodded again before the doctor left. He looked in through the crack in the door at Thomas, lightly dozing in slumber.


	6. Cyan Blue

Author's Note:

Extremely sorry for not posting in a while, but school got in the way and I got sick again-bleh! But now I'm posting two chapters to make for it. Please continue to read and review!

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"Mr. Barrow! Need I remind you that they're waiting to have dinner and the table isn't even set?"

Thomas took the silver platter with the tenderly cooked chicken and ran upstairs with it. That night there was a huge party with two other earls and Lord Grantham trying to impress some very important people. It was towards the end of Thomas' second week with pneumonia and Mr. Carson had made him serve after a week and a half off.

"Your performance tonight Mr. Barrow was horrible at best. You were slow, completely not charming and you almost forgot to set out the main course!"

Thomas just stood in the butler's office, hands straight at his side.

"Mr. Carson-"

He could hear his wheezing breaths and the tightness in his chest. The running upstairs and downstairs had agitated his lungs.

"Now Thomas, I know you've been sick but you seem fine now and I refuse to accept this kind of work. If you hadn't been working here for a while already I would've demoted you at the very least!"

"Mr. Carson-"

He said, his voice barely a whispered. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as his lungs constricted painfully. His lips were turning a bluish colour.

"Don't you have some sort of excuse? Are you even listening to me Thomas?"

He raised a hand to his head, the room swimming out of focus. He stumbled backward and pitched forward. The floor rushed up as Mr. Carson moved out from around his desk.

His breaths were coming in short bursts, barely any air entering.

"Thomas, you need to listen to me"

The voices were starting to fade now. Mr. Carson turned him over on his back.

"Breath in for eight seconds, and breath out for eight seconds."

While Thomas tried to follow his instructions he heard Mr. Carson call for Mrs. Hughes. Almost immediately Mrs. Hughes kneeled in the remaining patches of his vision. He couldn't hear them anymore, his eyes roamed over the room, unfocused and cloudy.

After another few minutes, the bluish colour was fading on his lips, returning to the normal pink. His breathing grew deeper as he focused on the eight seconds. With a final splutter and cough, Thomas refocused. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes helped him to sit up, the room no longer spinning.

"My God Thomas we thought you were leaving us."

He blinked slowly, as if waking up.

"Sorry Mr. Carson."

He said as they helped him stand up. He felt tipsy, as if he had too much to drink. He had to lean on Mr. Carson for support.

Mrs. Hughes opened the door for them. Mr. Carson took Thomas' right arm and slung it over his shoulder. The other workers were looking at them in shock. Will took Thomas' other arm as they hauled him to his room. He fell into his bed as his employer and friend undressed him.

After that night Carson left him the rest of the week and by the following Monday Doctor Clarkson deemed him ready for work.

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Mrs. Hughes found herself remembering the bluish hue of his lips that one night as she sat down next to his cot. He kept writing the letter, his other arm wrapped in the sling, but his breath coming easy.


	7. These Wheels Keep Turning

Author's Note:

I like Anna and Thomas together for some reason. I think they'd be awesome together in the show. Happy holidays, please review!

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It was Anna's one Sunday evening off per week. She sat at the foot of her bed, unsure of what to do. Her new book hadn't come in yet, and Mr. Bates still hadn't contacted her. She got up from her bed, suddenly remembering how Mrs. Hughes said Thomas was upstairs.

She found him sitting up in bed, talking with some of the other soldiers.

"Fancy getting some fresh air?"

He smiled at her as one of the nurses brought over a wheel chair. She pushed him through the trail, spotting other wounded soldiers in the distance.

"So why do you need a wheel chair?"

She asked, making conversation.

He motioned to the stitches in his stomach.

"They hurt like hell with any movement. The doctor says that should fade with time though."

They continued walking for several moments when Thomas stopped her.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Anna stopped pushing him, instead taking a seat on a nearby bench.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, there have been an awful lot of people to visit me. But I find most of them just need someone to talk to. I'm only too glad for their company though."

She stared at the man sitting in front of her, still dressed in uniform.

"Mr. Bates hasn't talked to me in awhile."

"I'm sure he's doing it for your own good."

She nodded but felt a lump in her throat when she went to swallow. She kept her hands in her lap, ungloved, bare. With gentle ease, Thomas put one of his hands over hers.

"You'll be all right. He's going to come back."

Her eyes tore from his, looking steadily at the green blades of grass.

"I've never seen two people more in love. It used to get me sick the way you would eye each other across the table." He gave a slight chuckle, trying to lift the mood.

Her eyes moistened just thinking about all those nights when he was so close to her. He was close enough to touch; yet she couldn't. They restrained themselves because he was married and she was trying to be proper. She clenched her fists tighter, look where proper had gotten her now. A cold bed with dashed dreams.

As if sensing the turmoil inside her, Thomas lifted her chin with his index finger so she would meet his gaze.

"Listen to me Anna, I have been through hell and back. When I see the true love you two share, I know nothing in this world can separate it. Not his wife, not his own conscience, and not even death."

His iceberg blue eyes pierced hers with a sureness he wasn't even aware of. She gasped softly, standing up and pushing him back to the castle.

"Since when did you get philosophical?"

He grunted as she helped him up from the wheelchair.

"Since I've been sitting in bed most of the days either sleeping or reading."

For the first time since Mr. Bates left Anna took a deep breath without feeling a weight upon her chest because someone believed in them. Not just anyone, but the cynical Thomas who tried to get Mr. Bates fired believed that he would come back for her, believed that love would triumph.

She smoothed out her apron as she went back downstairs, her head held a little higher.


	8. Abusing Stools

Author's note:

This chapter takes place almost immediately after the last one. Please comment!

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"Why are you here?"

"Because Anna doesn't deserve this."

Mr. Bates smile wiped off his face fast. For a minute they stood staring at each other. Thomas had no right to step into the bar where he worked and demand that he come back to Downton when he worked so hard to get him fired in the first place. Of course, for once, Thomas wasn't doing this for himself; he was doing it for a girl he cared about.

Anna and Thomas hadn't been the best of friends, but they were close. They had to be in that little servants' hall for nearly ten years. No, Thomas did not like Mr. Bates at first, and why should he? He had worked hard at being a valet only to find this cripple taking his job.

Anna and Mr. Bates hadn't been together for nearly as long but they hit it off first thing. She had brought him his dinner when he was down on the first day and they made a bed together. It was the little things that made him fall in love with her. The small, polite, small spread across her face. The simple servants' dress. The fluttering laughter, and her tiny frame.

Thomas had to convince his nurse to take him into town. She needed more supplies and he needed fresh air. Now, looking at Thomas in the wheelchair, Mr. Bates didn't have the heart to turn him away. He sat on one of the stools, the bar eerily quiet since most men were out working before the lunch hour. The older man quietly analyzed the younger's complexion. He didn't fill out his clothes anymore, made more evident through the creases and folds when sitting in the chair. His arm was still in the sling and a light sheen of sweat shown on his brow, no doubt from the exertion of wheeling around with one arm.

Thomas sized up Mr. Bates also. The man physically looked the same except there were more wrinkles that seemed to form a permanent frown. The apron hooked around his stomach seemed wrong. He should be in his tidy suit, cane in one hand, coat-brush in the other. He seemed to have aged a year in a mere month.

"Shouldn't you be with a nurse?"

"Yeah, she's busy. I came to see you"

Bates scoffed, continuing wiping the counter with his rag.

"Funny, last time I went to see you"

Thomas let his gaze roam around the little pub, and pushed his wheelchair forward accidentally getting tangled in one of the stools. Mr. Bates watched on as Thomas backed up, pushed forward, but the stool peg was jammed into the spindles of the wheels. The older man started laughing, diffusing the tension. Thomas gave up, letting his good arm dangle beside him. He joined in with Mr. Bates. Both of them filled the small room with their dry mirth.

With a tug, Bates untangled the stool from the chair.

"I'll make a deal with you. I'll return to Downton soon if you stop abusing my stools"

With that, Thomas left.


	9. Sharp Tongues and Hot Flames

Author's Note:

I put Thomas and Sybil together this chapter! There will definitely be a chapter between her and Thomas again, possibly with Courtenay? Please review!

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It had been a week since they released Thomas from Downton and sent him instead to work at the hospital. He conversed with Lady Sybil often and tended to wounded soldiers day and night.

The wind blew fiercely outside the building. The windows rattled in the afternoon. Doctor Clarkson was called out to attend a conference out of town so it was just Thomas and a few other nurses.

"Major Clarkson wanted us to mix some new solutions to use in the new medicine."

Thomas nodded as he pulled out the cabinet keys from his belt.

"I think Sergeant Thomas and I can handle it, thank you," Lady Sybil responded to the other nurses.

She politely closed the curtain so the other patients couldn't see them. Thomas sat down at the desk with the different vials. She followed suite with measuring cups and a paper with the written instructions. Lightly, she put her hand on his right shoulder, leaning slightly over him. He could smell her hibiscus perfume, her white cap falling gently over the nape of her neck. Thomas' head turned slightly, acknowledging the proximity. She seemed oblivious, or teasing him on purpose. Sniffing, Thomas turned back to the instructions. Carefully, he poured a teaspoon of the purple liquid in a beaker. She used a miniature pipette to measure out two milliliters into the same beaker.

They worked together for fifteen minutes before coming upon a particularly difficult step. The next ingredient needed to be added one drop at a time and stirred so as the reaction would not occur as viciously.

Thomas held the beaker with both hands firmly on the table. She squeezed one drop out, stirred, and squeezed another drop, until both of them heard a loud yell and the she squeezed the rest of the liquid in with one squirt.

The mixture started to bubble and foam over. Thomas quickly removed his hands before the chemicals could spill onto them.

Lady Sybil peered behind the curtain, seeing an unconscious soldier who had fallen to the floor. She rushed over to him trying to lift him.

"Thomas, help me!"

"But the medicine-"

"That can wait!"

Thomas trailed behind her, picking up the other man with relative ease and placing him back on the bed. The man groaned, his head wound and one of his eyes covered in thick gauzes.

"What do you think is wrong with him?"

Thomas shook his head, "with a head injury? It could be anything."

They looked at his chart before Sybil stuck her nose in the air.

"Do you smell that?"

With a sinking feeling, Thomas pulled back the curtain to see the chemical mess still on the hot plate, an average size flame protruding from the top of the beaker now. Sybil went over the flame, trying to turn the burner off while Thomas went to get the fire blanket. The flames grew hot near her hands and her face as she turned the dial down.

"Get away from there Sybil!"

Thomas shouted as the flames blazed higher. The hot plate malfunctioned as a spark emitted. Sybil screamed as the fire caught on her hands. Thomas flung the fire blanket almost immediately on her hands. The flames licked at the white curtain as the wall caught fire. He lifted the extinguisher from the wall and sprayed it all over until all that was left was a black stained wall and ashes. Sybil was crying on the floor. Her face dug into the wool. Beads of sweat rolled down Thomas' back, the curtain was only slightly tinged black with soot.

"M'Lady, are you okay?"

Tear stained cheeks looked up at him. Her eyes glistened softly under the electric light. Cautiously, he crouched down to meet her.

"Let me see?"

With a tenderness she never thought Thomas was capable of, he removed the blanket to see first degree burns. True, they had caught fire, but Thomas reacted with such quickness that the fire didn't have time to burn longer. He filled a bowl with cool water, placing her delicate hands in the water. She choked back a cry as Thomas watched her. After a few minutes she took her hands out as Thomas got sterile gauzes and ointment.

"How could you forget to turn off the burner?"

"I thought I did. Maybe it malfunctioned."

He was blatantly lying, and Sybil could tell. Her eyes bore into him.

"The servants used to talk about you."

He turned back to her, only his left half of his face visible.

"And what did they say?"

"They said you stole and that-that you were mean to the other footman."

A cruel smile turned on his lips.

"Do you believe them?"

She looked down at her red hands.

"I don't know." She said. Thomas kept his left ear inclined toward her.

Sometimes I watch you and you seem so cruel. Like when you talk to those below you-as if you need to have control over them, as if talking down to them makes you feel better about yourself."

"Permission to speak freely ma'am?"

She nodded once.

"All my life I have been in the lower class, being talked to as if I was a piece of dirt. So forgive me if I tend to enjoy my short time of power." He said matter of factly, turning his head back toward the table.

He walked back over to her, gently massaging the lotion on her hands.

"You can change your position if you try hard enough."

He scoffed, "Oh really? Because the last time I was in line to be a valet someone new came in and took the position while I had worked at Downton for over ten years and have been a perfect footman."

She pulled her hands away.

"How dare you! You were lucky to have that you wicked man!"

He looked at her as if burned.

"I understand why my father wouldn't want you dressing him. Anyone with that attitude will certainly fail at life."

"Because you know so much about life?"

"Well yes I would like to think so!"

"Too bad M'Lady, because, quite honestly, you don't have a clue."

She recoiled, unused to be spoken to in such harsh tones.

"I have been working in service since I was fifteen. And before that I did back breaking jobs on a farm. Tell me Lady Sybil, have you ever worked so hard that the next day you could barely move? Or have to choose between new shoes or dinner for a week?"

He started wrapping the gauze, and even though his tone was firm, his hands were careful and soothing.

"I have been bred my whole life to think that I'm a lower being merely because I don't have a lot of money and because of my different interests in other people. If I make a mistake, I can't turn around from it, and I don't have Daddy's money to help me."

She visibly winced, but whether from his words or her wounds he knew not. She argued back with him, as if hitting back a tennis ball.

"I admit, it must be hard but that doesn't mean my life is easy. I'm expected to marry young, and settle down with kids. I can never seem to please my father, and I always have to stop the quarreling between my two sisters. While all this time I haven't had a darn thing to do until nursing. Do you know what it's like to feel useless? To know that my physical appearance rather than my intelligence is what my future husband will most likely be after? I cannot tell you how many nights I lie awake and wish of a life where I am well and truly needed, where I know my place, where I don't have to obey my father at every turn and where I can marry whoever I want."

She sighed loudly, clearly frustrated. Her hands were now covered in a delicate dressing. Her lips thinned, but she started helping Thomas put away the chemicals and clean the equipment.

"What are we going to tell Major Clarkson?"

"The truth, I suppose. I don't envy you the scolding Clarkson will give you."

His face flushed red for a second thinking of the upbraiding by the head doctor.

"You're an odd one Thomas. Other times, I see such tenderness and raw emotion that I can't believe you are the same man."

Their hands touched as she handed him a flask.

"I-I-"

But their conversation was interrupted as Tom Branson entered the room and saw them, their hands overlapping, their bodies mere centimeters from each other. Tom opened his mouth in shock before telling her that her mother wanted her home for dinner by eight that night. Without waiting for an answer, he fled down the hospital steps.

"Tom, wait! We were just cleaning!"

He pushed open the door and stepped into his car pulling away.

Her white cap had nearly fallen off now.

"I can try to talk to him for you if you leave out my blunder with the hot plate."

She huffed but agreed nonetheless.

The wind howled as the day grew later.


	10. Things Unseen (Pt1)

Author's Note: Sorry for not updating in a while. Here's part one about Courtenay. This chapter was hard to write because I don't really know that much about Edward. Please review!

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There was nothing special about this man who came with bandages across his eyes wearing the familiar pin stripe blue and white pajamas. But Thomas did notice his scent. He didn't smell dirty or like mud as the other men did. He smiled of a campfire. As if he was a walking fire the moment Thomas saw him, a walking explosion of pinewood.

He first talked with him when helping him write a letter. Edward started it plainly enough with a dear Jack, my brother. He told him about his condition, about his injury that would heal but never recover. While Courtenay spoke, Thomas looked at him, staring at his calloused hands, and bare, white, arms above the comforter. He soaked in every inch of the man in front of him because he was the only thing there. He averted his eyes to the paper though, as if Edward could see him staring. Towards the end of the letter though, in closing, he changed his tone. A drop of defiance seeping into his voice, a pinch of indifference, and a smudge of hatred seeping like blood into his voice.

"I hope this letter finds you well, better than I am, always better than I ever will be from now on."

Thomas stopped writing. "You don't actually want me to put that in do you? It's just, the paper's almost done."

The man in bed swallowed, "Leave the letter. We'll finish it tomorrow."

Thomas stood abruptly, the chair screeching beneath him. There was plenty of bustling in the hospital no one noticed the extra noise.

"If you need anything-"

"I'll ask the nurses thanks."

Dismissed, he walked back through the hospital knocking into Sybil.

"Were you just with the new soldier?"

"Yes, he doesn't have very good manners though."

Sybil clicked her tongue. "I suppose we can't expect them to after all they've been through. The doctors say he'll never see again."

Thomas closed his eyes, thinking of all the colors, of all the faces, the places, he would miss. One of the doctors peeked in between the corridor, upbraiding both of them and ordering them back to work.

"Why don't you have dinner with me later? We can meet in the little café a block from here and talk about a plan for Courtenay."

He nodded and resumed his duties. An hour before dinner he stood, folding white bed sheets in military fashion. His thoughts wandered to the soldier. Fold over once across, double up, fold across again, and move onto the next sheet. He thought of the way his brown hair crinkled against the pillow. How he put his hands up to his bandages, feeling the part where his eyes were. He recreated the lieutenant perfectly in his mind as a kind of mental exercise, seeing how much he could remember, until all the sheets were folded. He checked his watch before meeting Lady Sybil downstairs.

The air was still warm despite the setting sun.

"I talked with Courtenay today as well, he seems understandably upset. I was hoping perhaps you could help me with something?"

Thomas looked at the girl hooked on the crook of his arm. The normal white cap was gone and the short brown hair bobbing lightly against her neck.

"It's not some radical idea is it? I can't afford to get in trouble with Dr. Clarkson."

She slapped him playfully.

"Would I ever ask you something that could get you in trouble?"

Thomas took out the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, blowing out smoke.

"There was that one time-"

Both of them laughed as they neared the café.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground, stamping it out.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke, it's horrid for your health."

He would never tell her, but Sybil's small comments made the world of difference to him. To know that someone actually cared about his health.

"I was thinking we could dedicate ourselves to Courtenay, make him our patient like some of the other nurses do."

Thomas sipped his tea, swishing the hot liquid in his mouth before swallowing.

"You'd have to clear it with the good doctor first."

Clarkson was likely to say no. Thomas smirked, happy with himself for finding a way out.

"I already have! He had some reservations about it at first but then I convinced in. So you'll do it then? Oh thank you Thomas! Sometimes I think you're the only reasonable one in the hospital."

He opened his mouth to protest but Sybil was already talking to the waiter and all at once he realized why the Crawley girls always got what they wanted-they wouldn't settle for anything less.

The next morning Thomas helped Courtenay dress. He and Sybil would be taking Edward out. He watched as the wounded man felt for each button and slid it out of the hole, one after another. He let the shirt slide off his chest, reaching for the new one. Thomas put his hand on top of Courtenay's leading it to the shirt. He felt Edwward's hand tense up under his own. He let Thomas guide him though. Thomas took his other hand, doing the same. Four hands held up the new shirt. He placed Edward's hands on the first button and watched as he undid the shirt and shrugged it on.

"Why didn't you just hand me the shirt?"

He couldn't tell him that he wanted to touch the other man's hands. He couldn't say he wanted to see his reaction or if his help would be denied.

"Because it's harder that way."

He wanted to say because this way you have to trust me, trust my hands to lead you the right way. Trust me not to abuse you.

He got his pants on next, letting Thomas close enough to feel his breath and to fix his belt on tightly. The former footman could smell his scent strongly now as if the embers of the flame themselves were smoldering next to him. He stepped away abruptly.

"Nurse Sybil will be waiting for us outside."

"I don't see why you're doing this, I won't be able to work without my eyesight."

Thomas led him down the stairs, relieved to see Sybil waiting with her bright smile, her white apron, and her red cross arm band.


	11. Things Unseen (Pt 2)

Author's note: Sorry I haven't posted in a while! I'll be ending this story soon since it's not really a story anymore, but a series of one shots about Thomas and the other characters.

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"We'll take it slow. You'll walk with Thomas or I first and then switch to a cane."

Courtenay nodded, unsteady on his feet. "I'd like Thomas to help me."

Thomas came by his side, standing directly behind him and holding onto his sleeve. "In front of you, I've put out objects. Thomas will tell you either left or right. Go ahead."

Courtenay took a step tentatively forward, one hand outstretched, the other curled up in Thomas' uniform.

"Keep going straight."

His feet were clumsy after not walking for weeks. He kept going, Thomas holding him tightly. Every step was a dare to Courtenay, every step either a mistake or a success. He hated the gnawing in the pit of his stomach, mocking him, saying he'll forever remain like this, a burden to others, a sightless fool. He thought back to his war days where he got blinded and all of a sudden he was back there, reliving the memories.

"Left, left, Courtenay turn left!" He felt someone tugging on his sleeve, like a little child, someone trying to pull him out of the way of the mustard gas and then he felt a pain in his shin.

"Owww! What was that?"

Thomas' voice answered, soft and official like.

"That was a cone. I tried to tell you to turn left but you didn't listen."

Another hand was on his shoulder now, the nurse's.

"We can stop if you would like."

He stepped forward, pulling Thomas behind him.

"No, let's keep going."

Courtenay realized then that he wasn't in the war anymore. He was safe with Thomas and the kind nurse, and the grass didn't crunch or slide like the mud and gravel underneath his boots. The sky was probably blue, not filled with smoke. He wasn't in any immediate danger, he could relax.

Thomas and Sybil noticed the slightly relaxed manor in Edward now. His shoulders lowered, his hand unclenched in Thomas' shirt and instead remained loose.

"Turn right here."

He turned slightly, his feet shuffling in the grass.

"Tell me what the day is like today."

Sybil responded before Thomas. "Tell us what you hear and we'll fill in the details."

He tilted his head to the side, listened for a moment.

"Birds chirping, two people, a girl and a man talking to the left, a car going by."

"Blue birds, a couple, and a yellow car."

He smiled, as if he could see the colors himself.

"I smell disinfectant, from the hospital. The grass. Your rose perfume and the sergeant's scent."

They walked to a nearby bench before turning around and heading back to the hospital. The doctor asked for a word with both of them on the way in.

"It's very unlikely that his sight will come back. We'll most likely move him within the next two weeks."

Thomas sat with Edward, making sure he ate his dinner and finishing the letter from the previous night.

"Why didn't you get sent back out to the front."

"I got shot in my shoulder, can't lift heavy stretchers or carry guns for a while anymore."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"One older sister. I don't see much of her though."

He put aside his food tray.

"My younger brother, Jack, he means to replace me. It's what he's always wanted."

"Yeah well, things cannot be as they were and, whatever you might think, Jack has your best interests at heart." Thomas tried to soothe out the wrinkles on the side of his bed.

"I'm sorry. I mustn't bore you." Courtenay tucked his hands together, fingers intertwined.

"Don't let'em walk all over you. You've got to fight your corner." Thomas said softly, unsure whether to offer this advice.

"What with?"

"Your brain. You're not a victim, don't let them make you into one." Determination laced Thomas' tone, his voice growing stronger with each passing word.

"You know, when you talk like that I almost believe you."

"You should believe me. All my life they've…" Thomas struggled, looking for the right words.

"Pushed me around…just cos I'm different."

He frowned, confused. "How? Why are you different?"

"Never mind. Look…look, I don't know if you're going to see again or not. But I do know you have to fight back."

Courtenay placed a hand on Thomas' knee, the calluses rubbing against his knee cap. Thomas placed his hand on top, grateful for the contact.

Sybil came in then and they broke apart easily.

The next day the doctor told Courtenay he would be leaving soon to go to a convalescent home.

Sybil and Thomas were both busy that day with a new flow of patients and had little time to see Courtenay. That night though, both noticed he wasn't in the dinning hall with some of the other soldiers.

One of the nurses found Doctor Clarkson and told him about the apparent suicide.

They both ran to the dead soldier, the blood dripping down his open palm to the floor. Sybil turned away, into Thomas' shoulder. He stood, mesmerized by the calm plink, plink, plink, of the liquid onto the tile floor. The face was still pink, slowly turning white. His burned eye veins shot out from his curly hair.

"Don't just stand there. Let's clean this mess up."

Thomas nodded once, releasing Sybil and walking over to his dead friend. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. He moved his arm to the right, clutched the sheets, and helped the other men lift him off the bed mechanically. That night, once he got off of his night shift, he went to a corner of the surplus supply closet and cried.

His yielding cry filled only his body, consuming only himself with a kind of eternal pity. The shadows comforted him; the surplus razors lay in a box above his head, mocking him. Tears flowed down his face like running water. There was no need to hide them anymore. This was his life, hiding himself, losing everyone close he had ever known. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat, replaying the scene in his head again. It wasn't just the blood; it was the whole chaos of the picture. The sheets were rumpled and stained. The comforter shoved down by the dead man's feet as if he welcomed the cold. The idea that he could take his life so easily when there were other men fighting for theirs. The pillow, haphazardly, thrown on the floor. The razor hidden in the bed. His dirty fingernails. He no longer smelled like a campfire, he didn't smell like anything.

Thomas leaned closer into his knees, hugging them tightly to his chest. He ran a hand through his hair; his shoulder wound biting against the action. He moved his back down to the floor, inviting the cold floor through his uniform, to his war torn body. He kept his knees bent, the kneecap where Courtenay touched pointing upward. The cold wrapped itself around him. After half an hour of staring at the ceiling he started shivering and realized the cold was only for the dead.


	12. Drizzly Days

Author's Note: I think next chapter will be the last. Warning! This chapter mentions suicide and is dark. Thanks for reading!

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A week, a month, a season, the time blurred together as Thomas and Sybil continued working in the hospital. Every so often, he would glance across the room where Courtenay used to be. Sybil would squeeze his shoulder knowingly and pat her apron. His days were filled with fog and rain, almost slipping away like soothing water.

"Corporal, Dr. Clarkson has asked me to go to London and get some more medicinal herbs. But he doesn't want me going alone, will you come with me?"

Thomas nodded once, offering Sybil his arm. The walk to the train station was silent, both lost in their thoughts until they settled on the train.

"Thomas, are you depressed?"

They both knew the answer. He always wondered why people asked questions if they already knew the answers.

"Just tired, haven't been sleeping well."

As if to emphasize his point, he yawned loudly and dragged a hand over his mouth. She looked at him, a small smile tugging across her lips.

"You don't have to lie to me."

He nodded once, then opened up the paper. She sighed and got up sitting next to Thomas.

"When I first started nursing I accidently left a bottle of pills next to one of the special cases."

He pretended to keep reading the newspaper.

"With the bustle of new soldiers and all the things to do I just forgot. My supervisor assured me all new nurses mess up at least once"

She swung her legs under her, sitting on her calves, and leaned into him, her lips close to his ears.

"He took all of them."

Thomas glanced over at her, their faces inches apart. The man with the trolley came over.

"Hungry? We have sandwiches."

Thomas shook his head and waved the man on. The moment had been interrupted. Sybil leaned back against the seat, closed her eyes, her feet dangling over the edge of the cushion. She stayed next to him, her breath close to his. He watched her chest expand as she breathed in, watched her muscles relax as she breathed out. He turned his head back to the window, watching the scenery in a blur. Sybil's breathing even out, her head sliding onto Thomas' shoulder easily. The train was coming to a stop when she picked her head up.

"That's when I realized, that sometimes it is harder to live."

She hopped up, her jacket swirling around her. Thomas folded the paper, stood up, letting her words sink into him.


End file.
